The Cafe
by Rickashay
Summary: AU One-Shot, Harry observed Tom in a café for weeks and weeks, it wasn't until Tom gestured him over that he ever spoke to the well-dressed gentleman. Non-Magic, Slash, male/male relationship, Modern, rated T


Title: The Cafe

Authoress: Rickashay  
Genre: Romance

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,663

Warning(s): slash

Character(s): Tom Riddle/Harry Potter, modern and non-magic

Summary: AU One-Shot, Harry observed Tom in a café for weeks and weeks, it wasn't until Tom gestured him over that he ever spoke to the well-dressed gentlemen.

* * *

It was cold…

The wind rustled up against him, brushing his trench and worming into his heat, stealing his warmth. The coffee helped, but it never did too much when it was so easy to spill. The smell of London, the murmurs of the late crowd as they left theaters and restaurants, the mist of their breath showing in the cold air. Most huddled together, grabbing gloved hands or a protective arm wrapped around a shoulder.

The sounds of London, of honking cars, of steady footsteps that marked the pavement with dirty, slushy shoes, and of the sound of dim laughter, bursting forth and breaking the sounds of everyday life. Unique and breathy, the winter air staining cheeks red and lips ruby, the sparkling of snow on heads and shoulders, of men with stooped shoulders, bearing against the cold and hiding their hands within the pockets of their jackets.

Harry observed this all underneath the protective heat of a lamp, which did nothing and everything, highlighting his features for all to see, some smiling at the sharp, green eyes that would not look away from their happy faces.

Sometimes, Harry desperately wished for someone….

Anyone…

To stop and ask him, "are you well?"

"Where are you going?"

"Would you like a drink?"

"Do you need help?"

No one ever did, as it was London and people preferred to mind their own business instead of a little ragged man, standing underneath a lamppost and waiting.

It never happened…

Harry Potter was sixteen years old, escaped from Surrey just for a few hours, and observed people that he would never see again.

He would have freely admitted…

He was lonely…

Sometimes, he watched that odd couple that seemed so completely wrapped up in being with each other, smiling and grinning, laughing in their own lovesick way, and simply enjoying their life spent with this one person.

He envied that…and despised that weakness he saw in himself.

* * *

It was nearly six years later that he found a small café tucked in the corner of London, home to many regulars and few newcomers, on Saturdays it was home to debaters and political analysts, goodness knows Britain needed that. On Sunday, it was nearly empty with only a few stragglers coming in to greet those few employees, mainly the older crowd that liked sitting against the wall reading their favorite book. Mondays were the best days, when people needed that small pick-me-up coffee and were friendly enough for a small chat with the small man hidden in the corners like the unique café. The following days were similar to those precious Mondays, Fridays being an exception when everyone was happy and in a hurry to enjoy being home once again.

It was on a Monday that he spotted Tom Riddle.

He had seen Mr. Riddle many times, always in a hurry and glaring at his Rolex watch as if it was the devil himself. He always ordered the same drink along with some type of treat, usually a muffin or some banana nut bread, and he always sat in the same chair. He never made conversation…and people respected that.

One thing that Harry freely admitted and accepted about himself was that he was unequivocally and unashamedly gay.

Admiring the man from afar was one of the many cowardice things he had done in his twenty-two years, but those blue eyes could stop you in your tracks and pin you to the ground like an insect against a magnify glass, once it was fried, of course.

The suit was an added bonus, usually accompanied by a classic white, starched shirt, but this time it was different…

It was a blue shirt, a dress shirt to be sure since Mr. Riddle would not be in anything else but the best. It only highlighted those eyes, enhanced them…

It was also nearly impossible to drag his eyes away from the man's form, who for once was there before anyone else, who looked up once he opened the door and the moment Harry could not resist but blush.

Someone once told him he looked like a tomato when he blushed…

He always hated tomatoes.

The appearance of others in the little café heightened, the smile on the barista's face, the sound of Riddle's bag rustling when he opened it to retrieve whatever treat he craved today, the sound of steaming milk, and the giggling couple who curled themselves into the corner.

Harry's usual corner…

Suddenly, Mr. Riddle curved a finger his way, a smile curving his mouth just so and just a hint of those perfect teeth, beckoning him over.

He had seen the man laugh once, a short chuckle that vibrated the entire room. The type of laugh that made people stop in their tracks, lower their coffees, and pause in their chewing just to stare at this abnormally attractive man.

"Thank you, Mr. Riddle." Harry said as he placed his book-bag on the floor, leaning against the leg of the chair and giving him the opportunity to force himself to compose himself.

"It is always difficult when someone steals your place," a smile twitched and the soft voice, lowered in a fake sense of privacy, since everyone was now looking in their direction.

"Yeah, always a bit awkward even though you know it's kinda stupid to think that you own that spot." Harry smiled back, nervously and scratching his head.

Riddle's voice was suave and sophisticated, just like his clothing, and an obvious trait from his childhood. There were some people who seemed much more comfortable in rich clothes and expensive restaurants than was natural, a concept of birth and entitlement more than anything else.

Or so Harry thought…

"What are you reading?" Tom asked, looking over his cup of coffee, his long fingers curled around the steaming cup with an interested look.

He was a superb actor, considering Harry had never seen him take an interest in someone else the entirety that he had been doing business at this café.

The man couldn't possibly be interested in Harry, anyway.

"Les Miserables…" Mr. Riddle read aloud, no expression showing his disdain for French literature or pleasure at such a fascinating classic. "Have you ever seen it done as a play?"

Once, but it was too long ago to remember. It was when his mother had taken him, before the car accident, and he could only remember a voice that thundered in his soul. "Only once, but I was too young to remember it."

The man smiled, his blue eyes curving slightly, as if pleased. "I saw it in Paris nearly two years ago, one of the best renditions I've seen."

"How many times have you seen it?"

"Too many times to count," a soft chuckle warmed the atmosphere.

Harry's toes curled.

They quieted, only breaking their companionable silence when Harry stood to leave, a brief muttered, "goodbye" before he opened the door to brave the cold. Before he completely left though, he noted a dark-haired man step out from the café before walking down the opposite way, humming "I Dreamed a Dream".

They were sitting with each other for nearly an hour…

They met often enough at the café, Harry never bold enough to approach Mr. Riddle, who always gestured him over with that soft, devilish smile.

It took nearly three weeks, every day, when Tom finally leaned over and whispered in his ear, "would you like to go to a movie with me?"

The embarrassed expression and stuttered response made him laugh…

But they did go…

Harry stuck his hands in his coat, unwilling to ignore the hand that rested lightly on his back, guiding him inside the movie theatre and ordering their tickets.

Les Miserables…

When Harry laughed at the end, exhilarated by the performances, Tom had looked him over with an unsmiling-but-with-soft-eyes look that conveyed everything that it needed to, and Harry did not resist the soft kiss planted on his cheek moments later, the streets of London quieter as they stood underneath the lamppost.

It was the same lamppost that Harry would stand over when he was lonely, feeling like he was the only one that existed in the world.

* * *

The first time that Harry could say that he had fallen in love with Tom was when he leaned over him and pinned him to the couch.

They did nothing but stare at each other…

They smiled and grinned, teased and tickled each other, but there was this contentment that had never been there before.

"How did you know my name was Riddle?" Tom asked, resting his head against the couch, a lazy hand splayed across his date's stomach.

Harry blushed immediately, looking down but trying to hide the smile that threatened to escape. It never hid from Tom. "I'd listen to you, hearing you talk to the employees or other customers, phone calls. They said your name, you know…"

"Most people don't pay such attention to a name," Tom responded idly, turning his head to watch the telly.

"When they have a crush on someone they do."

Tom winked at him, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "I knew whenever you looked my way that you liked me."

"Well, aren't you an arrogant bastard!" Tom tightened his grip only to cause Harry to lean back against him, laughing when he put his hand up to touch the scruff on Tom's cheek. "I'm only kidding."

"I know, Harry." A kiss was pressed to his temple…the smile still curved on Tom's lips, his blue eyes shining.

Harry knew that Tom had problems, low self-esteem and yet a wit that cracked like a whip. The ambitious, suave businessman that was not afraid to run you over in order to achieve his goal. It was just Tom though…who always welcomed him and never turned him away.

He knew he had his own problems, which Tom accepted…and so he would accept the issues that Tom had too.

* * *

A/N Just a quick one-shot on Tom/Harry, because I cannot resist them, especially in a modern setting. I hope you enjoyed it!


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